The Broken One
by Rogue Tomato
Summary: If anything would bring Ziva back to him, it would be this. Tiva one-shot set post-season 11. Somewhat spoilery.


_A/N: Thanks once again to sockie1000 for taking a look at this before I posted. :)_

* * *

It's her voice Tony hears upon waking from his dream, yet his sluggish mind made slow by life-sustaining medications struggles to pull him fully alert. His heart rate increases at the thought of seeing her again, and it's with that singular desire that he finally opens his eyes.

The persistent beeping of the monitor begins to slow as Tony's body adjusts to what his eyes have already confirmed… he is alone. Which, he thinks, is rather surprising. He is almost never left alone these days. Gibbs, Tim, and Abby visit daily. Ducky and Palmer stop by when they can. Even Vance makes an appearance or two.

But most of all, it's his dad who is his constant companion, leaving only to grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria… and even that has been rare, with his teammates often bringing him some takeout and eating at his bedside. The time spent together has been good, although they both surreptitiously wish their renewed bonding was under better circumstances.

Tony is grateful for the company.

And yet…

The constant stream of visitors is exhausting. He smiles when he doesn't feel like it. He's upbeat, because he knows that is what is expected of him. No one wants to see him give up, and so the usual platitudes you would expect in this sort of situation are said again and again. And it isn't like Tony _wants_ to give up. He's just tired, and he knows that soon, it won't matter what everybody wants. He finds that most of his time now, whether in the company of others or alone, is spent waiting. Just waiting…

Waiting for his next meal. (_Surely it won't be his last?)_

Waiting for the change in shifts so he gets to talk to Gloria again. (_By far his favorite nurse._)

Waiting for more drugs. (_Though they make him drowsy and nauseous.)_

Waiting for the okay to go home. ("_Th__at's not advised at this time," his doctor says.)_

Waiting for the end… (_He knows… he knows)._

This moment of unusual solitude, though undoubtedly fleeting, is wonderful. He glances at the clock: 9:45 p.m. He's sure that at any moment his dad will return with a coffee in hand, or Gibbs will stop by on his way home after a long day at work, or a nurse will pop in to assess his vitals, and so he waits and reflects on the dream that he'd woken from.

He remembers nothing of the dream itself… no plot, no exotic locale, no embarrassing moments from his past. He only remembers _her_. Ziva's voice is what sticks with him, and for a fleeting moment he wants to believe that it hadn't been a dream at all. That after all these years, she's returned to Washington D.C. Returned to him.

It's when he begins to drift off into another one of his frequent naps, pulled under by the weight of knowing that he may never see her again, when he hears it. Tony inches himself upward so he's leaning on his right elbow, straining to hear through his room's closed door.

His name. Ziva is saying his name.

And she's not alone. From the sound of things, his dad has returned from his trip to the cafeteria and has intercepted Ziva at the door.

"…want to see him."

"Of course you do," his father is saying. "It's been what, three years? Four?"

"Yes," Ziva admits, and Tony can hear the sharp edge in her voice. "Far too long."

There is quiet for a moment, and Tony can hear the shuffling of what must be his dad's feet moving to stand more firmly in front of Ziva. When Tony closes his eyes, he imagines Ziva's face and the glare she is most likely bestowing on the man in front of her. The thought of her silent, cold fury makes him smile and only when he hears the rushed whispering of his dad's voice does he re-open his eyes and stare at the door.

"Alright, on one condition." A beat of silence. "Do not make this about you. I don't know all the details on why you left, but I do know that Junior was very affected by it. He may not act like it, but I know. He says your name when he's sleeping, and it's never with a cheerful tone."

Tony scowls. No one has ever said anything to him about talking in his sleep. He makes a mental note to ask what other things he's been saying while unconscious when his dad continues.

"So you may have had a nice few years _finding yourself_, sweetheart, but they have been hell for my son." Tony hears his dad's voice fall apart at the end of that sentence, and it physically hurts to hear him sound so broken. Apparently Tony isn't the only one who has put up a brave front these past few weeks.

"I only wish to see him," Ziva says with a tint of desperation that Tony never likes to hear in her voice. "Please."

Tony doesn't hear a response. Instead the door handle turns and Ziva walks in, silhouetted against the harsh incandescent lights of the hallway. Though he had heard her in the hall, and thought himself prepared for this moment, it's the sight of her that takes his breath away. She stops suddenly when she sees he is awake, her dark eyes darting back and forth, up and down, intently taking in his appearance as he does hers.

She is thin, but not dangerously so. Her hair is pulled back, but he can see that it's lost some length. Her voice in the hall had carried some weight and edge to it, but he can see that she is tanned and beautiful and looks completely calm and at peace.

Tony regards her and wants to say something dramatic. He wants to ask any one of a dozen questions. _How have you been? How long have you been back in the States? Do you think of me as often as I do you? _

All that comes out instead is her name in a harsh whisper. He clears his throat and tries again. "You cut your hair."

"And you have lost yours."

Tony's mouth curves into a small smile, which Ziva easily returns.

"I'm trying a new look," he says, easing himself down until he is leaning back against the pillows of his bed. "What do you think?"

Ziva shuts the door behind her and walks to the foot of his bed. "I think it suits you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," she says with a nod as she picks up his medical chart and begins flipping through it. "Makes you look tough."

"Really?" Tony asks. "McGee says it makes me look like Mr. Clean. I was going more for Bruce Willis. You know, a _Frank Moses_ look… not an _Old Joe_ look, because, let's face it, that movie was messed up…"

They are quiet for a moment after Tony trails off, the only sound coming from the rustling of pages as Ziva flips through his records. The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

"You look wonderful, Ziva."

She pauses to look at him again, and her smile is bittersweet. "Thank you, Tony."

"Did you become a doctor while you were away?" Tony asks, lifting his chin to indicate the chart she still holds in her hands. "Find a miracle cure for what ails me? Some secret Mossad remedy, perhaps? An Israeli herb?"

Ziva frowns as she carefully slips the chart back into place and walks around the bed. Tony watches in silence again as her eyes scan the equipment, tubing and medications currently attached to him. Her eyes finally catch his and the sad smile is back.

"No, Tony. I did not receive any medical training while I was away."

The opening is there, and Tony desperately wants to take it. To ask where she has been all this time. To discover what she has been doing. But her face is closed off, and he can read that look just as easily as he could all those years ago when she sat across from him in the bullpen. Still, Tony has too many questions to ask, and besides… it's not like he hasn't gotten past her defenses in the past. He may be out of practice, but he's not completely off his game.

"I tried calling you, you know," Tony begins carefully. "Your number was disconnected."

"Yes," she confirms, but does not elaborate.

"How did you know?"

Ziva's eyes flick to the door, and Tony's heart clenches at the thought of her making a run for it. He knows how he looks. He knows she is uncomfortable seeing him like this. If it were up to him, Tony would have chosen a much better time for her to show up. Perhaps five months ago, before he got sick. What would they have discussed then, he wonders. Would things be awkward, as they are now? Could they have picked up right where they had left off?

"Ziva," he whispers, and he reaches out, grasping her hand with his own. "I'm sorry."

She looks back down at him with such fire in her eyes that Tony nearly gasps. Her hand within his clenches into a fist, and Tony nearly drops it in alarm.

"You have nothing to be sorry for!" Ziva says fiercely. "Nothing, do you understand me?"

Tony can do nothing but nod under her intense gaze.

"It is I who am sorry," she says more quietly, and her eyes drop downward to stare at their clasped hands. "Sorry for not being here sooner."

Tony works his jaw for a few moments, turning his gaze to stare at their hands as well. He doesn't want her to be sorry. He doesn't want her pity. He just wants _her_.

"Your hands are like ice, Tony," Ziva comments. Her eyes lift and scan his face. "Are you cold?" she asks and without waiting for an answer, she carefully slips off her shoes and begins climbing into bed next to him. It takes a few moments of cautious maneuvering, but eventually she is lying beside him, his head resting on her chest and her arm draped around his shoulders.

Minutes pass where Tony savors the simplicity of physical contact with Ziva. If he turns his head slightly to the left, his ear is pressed against her, and he hears the comforting rhythm of her beating heart. Ziva lets him do this, over and over, and he is absurdly grateful for it.

"I'm going home soon, you know," Tony says with as much conviction as he can muster.

"Is that so?" Ziva asks, and Tony smiles at the way her voice rumbles against his ear.

They slip into an easy silence again. Tony is unaware at how much time passes, measuring the moments only by his senses. The touch of Ziva's fingers as she brushes them against his temple. The faint smell of her shampoo when she turns her head. And the comforting sound of her heartbeat…

…sharply interrupted by the shrill of his cell phone. Tony ignores it. Ziva does not.

"Do you wish to answer your phone?" she asks with a bit of amusement in her voice.

"That would involve me getting up, and that's not something I want to do."

"I will get it for you," she offers after the phone chirps again.

Tony shakes his head. "That would involve you getting up, and that's not something I want either."

Ziva laughs, and Tony nearly weeps at the joy the sound brings him. God, he's missed her so much. He knows that he's missed her, but it isn't until this moment that he realizes how much.

Ziva sighs softly, her warm breath brushing against the top of Tony's head. "I wish for the two of us to remain here as well," she admits, her strong façade showing its first signs of cracking with the deeper meaning of her words, and just like that, the light moment… the laughter… is gone, replaced with cruel reality.

Tony's heart breaks just a little at that, and he can feel the sting of tears beginning to form. He slowly shakes his head again, and Ziva pushes her body a little closer to his.

"I want to go home, Ziva," Tony says softly, suddenly feeling more tired and heavy than he has in a long while. "I don't want to…" His voice cracks and the tears that have been threatening to make an appearance silently begin to fall. "Not here."

"I know," she says, her voice soft and calming, though he can feel her trembling against him. Or maybe that's just his body fighting sleep with its final reserves.

"If I go home," Tony begins, his voice barely above a whisper now, "will you visit me?"

"I will try."

Tony's strength is waning and the urge to fall asleep is only helped along by Ziva's light stroking of his face and the warmth her body pressed against his offers. He turns and lifts his head so he can see her face, her eyes, her lips.

"You never answered my question," he whispers as his eyes slip shut.

"What question?"

"How," he sighs. "How you knew to come back."

She is quiet for so long that Tony believes that she will never tell him. He's not sure why he wants to know so badly. Maybe he only wants to thank the person who called her to him… who fulfilled a dying man's wish, he thinks morosely. It had to have been Gibbs. Tony never once believed that Gibbs stopped keeping track of where Ziva was in the world. Or maybe it was McGee, working some of his computer black magic to track her down and bring her home.

"We are connected," Ziva says at last. "I think I have always known I would come back to you, Tony. It was only a matter of when. Now was when I was needed. And so I came."

Tony wants to tell her that's a sucky explanation, but he doesn't bother. Because in the end, it doesn't matter. And that's what this is, after all… the end.

"I don't want to die, Ziva." More tears spill out of his closed lids. "But I don't think this is called living anymore." It's a confession he's made to no one else. It's one he saved for her.

"Shhh," Ziva answers. "Sleep now, Tony."

Tony shakes his head, not willing to let go of this moment, because he's afraid… _so afraid_… that she will not be here when he wakes up. "Will you stay?" he asks anyway. He's not willing to part ways with her again. Not yet.

"Yes," she says softly after a moment, and Tony finally opens his eyes.

"All night?" He doesn't care that he sounds desperate.

Ziva's tilts her chin down so she is face to face, nearly nose to nose, with Tony. She brings up her other hand so her palms cradle Tony's face and he sees her eyes are wet.

"Close your eyes, Tony," she insists before she smiles warmly. "I will stay with you. Until the end."

Tony's eyes slip closed when her lips brush his forehead. And though he wants to do nothing but stare at Ziva until his last breath, he does what she asks instead, and falls asleep.

END.

* * *

_*Frank Moses is Bruce Willis' character in "Red." Old Joe is who Willis plays in the movie "Looper."_


End file.
